Photographic Memories
by jibbsloversunited
Summary: Burying your past in a box is no guarantee it will stay hidden. Jibbs.
1. Authors' note

Another collaboration between Morgan72uk and Elflordsmistress.

This will be a much _much_ shorter offering though – not more than three chapters.

It was originally meant to be a oneshot but ... well ... it grew.


	2. Out of the box

"Gibbs .." Abby whined into his ear.

"I'm on it Abs" he replied a little wearily as he moved down the steps into the basement.

"You said that an hour ago."

"Still looking," he replied, before he snapped his cell phone shut and placed it on the workbench.

Gibbs bent down and pulled a few boxes out onto the floor. Stepping back as dust flew everywhere. There really wasn't anywhere else he could look after this, and he found himself wishing he'd kept his mouth shut earlier. But he'd come into her lab when she was running a internet search in an effort to track down unusual stamps as a birthday gift for McGee; and he'd made the mistake of saying that he thought he owned a Ceres stamp issued in France at the time of the Third Republic. And now here he was - rummaging through still more boxes that contained memories of a life he'd long since left behind.

He was halfway through the third box when he stumbled across them. Attached to a letter housed in an envelope that had yellowed slightly around the edges over the years. The rubber band that held everything together snapped as he pulled it off. He didn't need to read the letter to know what it was, and who it had been from, but as the photos fluttered to the ground her face looked up at him. And instead of doing the sensible thing – which would have been to bundle everything up, put them back into the box, and keep looking for the stamp - he picked them up.

Wrapped in nothing more than a sheet, Jennifer Shepard looked back at him from the middle of a bed. Her green eyes seductive. Intense. Expressive. Speaking volumes to him as he leafed through the photographs; each one sparking more and more memory recall of a balmy afternoon spent in bed when there had been nothing more pressing to do than make each other feel good. When it had been all about them.

Or perhaps it had been all about her. He only remembered how she'd made him feel. There'd always been something about the way she looked at him from bed that made him squirm. Certainly it was a testament to the hold she'd had on him. And on his body. He smiled a little at the thought because if he was reading his body right, some things hadn't been diminished by time. Even now there was something about that sultry look that drew him in and made him want her. He pushed the photos aside, knowing that continuing to look at them would lead him down a path he wasn't sure he'd be comfortable taking at the moment. Not because it wouldn't be pleasurable, but because he wasn't sure he'd be able to look her in the face come morning.

Not without smirking anyway. And besides, it was only a matter of time before Abby rang for yet another a progress report, and he didn't particularly want to be caught breathless with his pants down.

He'd just finished going through the last box when his phone went off.

"Nothing Abs."

"It's okay Gibbs" she said a trifle sadly. "At least you tried."

"Yeah."

"Find any blast from your past while you were looking?"

"Nope."

But his fingers lingered over the top photo. Itching to run over the skin of the woman in it as they had on the day the photo was taken.

She had been his partner in more ways than he cared to admit. He couldn't count the times he'd rested his head in her lap and felt peace when the world and all the evil in it had weighed heavily on his shoulders. And when she'd gone it had been hard to accept that she would never look at him again with desire burning in her eyes, that the arms that had lent him strength and security in moments of darkness wouldn't be there to hold him close, and that he'd never see her come apart in his arms again. All of that came flooding back to him now as he sat looking at her picture in the quiet of his basement.

"Gibbs?"

His head jerked up and he realised he'd forgotten all about Abby at the other end of the line.

"I'm here .."

"Night ..."

"Night ... Abs" he said as picked up the photo again and lost himself in it for a while longer.

Remembered her shifting around on the bed following his prompts - until the gradual exposure of skin and the small sounds she'd made for him had been too enticing to resist and he'd pulled the sheet away from her. He could still remember how her hand had reached out to touch him. Gentle fingers had moved along his side and pulled him close enough so that she could reach down and tease him. Arousing him further. Making him moan in appreciation pretty much the same way he found himself moaning now. He remembered slow, deep kisses that had escalated into urgency; into a need for release that was manifesting itself again now – even if he was merely reliving the moment.

And that's when he knew that he couldn't keep the photos.

He couldn't keep them, but God – he wanted to. He wanted the reminder of that time, of the way she had made him feel. He wanted to recapture the heady mix of danger, sex and laughter that had swirled around them and hold onto it tightly – not let it get away.

He'd never worked with anyone who read him so easily, who'd anticipated his every move effortlessly – in the field and in the bedroom. Her thirst to learn had been unquenchable. She'd absorbed every piece of information, every lesson. And even now he could remember her taste, the way she'd moved, how quick she'd been to rouse to anger and to passion.

She intrigued him – even now. No one could make him angrier and she was one of the few people who could surprise him – a fact she was well aware of. This wouldn't be the first time he'd found himself questioning what she had lost and gained in the last nine years. If all that passion was gone for good – or just locked away somewhere waiting to be reignited.

But she was the Director of an Armed Federal Agency and the photographs would be dynamite if they fell into the wrong hands. Idly he wondered what had happened to the rest. They'd split them between them, and he hadn't found them when she'd left.

Which didn't mean anything. He wouldn't be surprised to learn that she'd burnt them.


	3. The past comes calling

She was having one of those days. A day when a whole host of small things had gone wrong – meetings over-running, papers going missing, a spilt cup of coffee on a pale skirt that had required a fast change of outfits between meetings that, unfortunately had been picked up by an eagle eyed reporter. Who'd mentioned it on air and called her a _clothes horse_ - as though what she wore had anything to do with how she did her job. Cynthia had done her best to keep everything on track – her patience and loyalty invaluable as ever. But it had been very clear that nothing was going to go as planned, and even her attempt to hide out in her office had been thwarted when she'd slammed her knee into her desk so hard it had put a run in her stocking and left a large red mark that was certain to bruise.

At that point she'd decided it would be better to admit defeat and take the rest of her paperwork home – before any further minor disasters could assail her. But her house was too quiet, too empty, and her mood too jittery to appreciate the calm. She was in sore need of distraction – but she didn't know exactly what form the distraction needed to take to reach her. She considered heading back to MTAC to watch over some overseas operations that likely didn't need her input at all. But she couldn't always use work as an escape – there had to be more, didn't there?

She just didn't know what. Friendships had floundered in the wake of her ridiculous schedule, dates had dried up, and she worked very hard to keep everyone at arms length – because her job was dangerous, her decisions could cost lives and distance was easier somehow. She wasn't sure when it had all got so complicated although she knew she couldn't afford the pang of regret that question prompted, couldn't look back and wish she had done things differently.

She'd almost decided that in this mood the best thing she could do was head to the gym, maybe wear herself out enough to sleep. Even though she knew the physical activity would give her almost too much time to think. What she really needed was something that would tire her out and also absorb her mind at the same time. She could think of at least one activity that would fit the bill – but good sex was another of the things she was not thinking about at the moment.

She'd grabbed a bag, pulled on a coat and just reached for her car keys – intending to head back to the Navy Yard and the gym there when the knock on her door stopped her – she wasn't sure she was in much of a mood for company.

"Jethro."

She opened the door far enough to see him standing on her step, completely sure that she wasn't in the mood for _his _company. Not when she was feeling so at odds with herself, something she was sure he'd pick up easily.

"Got a minute?"

She nodded warily. Letting him in – his gaze taking in her bag and coat.

"You going somewhere?"

"The gym."

His expression was a reminder that she wasn't supposed to go anywhere without a security detail, but he wasn't here to chastise her for being reckless.

"Something wrong?"

"No."

She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing here if there was nothing the matter, but something in his expression stopped her.

"Drink?" she asked instead.

He nodded and followed her into the study. She watched him as she poured the bourbon, thinking that he seemed unsettled; wondering if her mood could have been transmitted to him already.

"What's going on Jethro?"

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out what looked like a set of photographs and held them out to her.

"Found these and didn't think I should just leave them lying around."

The memory hit as soon as she saw the photographs in his hand. Remembered protesting drowsily as he'd taken the first shot. And yet he'd easily persuaded her into a few more poses, until finally he'd pulled away the sheet she'd been wrapped in. She'd enjoyed the moment of lightness amidst the dangers of their undercover missions and then been surprised when she realised how much this was turning him on. She'd pulled the camera from his grasp and drawn him down to her, taking a couple of shots of him before they'd become caught up in each other and forgotten all about the camera. But she'd remembered just as he'd slid into her and she'd reached for the camera and pressed it into his trembling hands once more.

Just thinking about it made her blush, but he was right - these were definitely not the kind of photographs that she wanted to be just left lying around. He'd had to bribe a lab technician to let him develop them himself and they'd split the photographs between them. After Paris she hadn't given much thought to what might have happened to the ones he'd kept. Clearly a mistake; since anyone might have come across them in his house over the years.

At least she knew where her photographs were – safely locked away. But, perhaps it was time to let them go. Why was she holding onto them after all? It would be much safer to burn the evidence – though Abby would undoubtedly find a way to retrieve images from ashes if need be. She just had to hope Abby wouldn't be looking.

She could feel him shifting uncomfortably in the background, and pulled herself from her reminiscing as it occurred to her that he was probably waiting for a reaction. Or at least some sort of thanks for doing the right thing. Unsure what to say, she hazarded a look at him.

She'd been right. He _was_ unsettled.

"_Found them_, Jethro?"

"Was looking for a stamp. Couldn't find it. Stumbled across these."

"Stamp?"

"The one from Paris."

"The Third Republic one? I have that. Do you want it?"

For a moment Gibbs was confused about why she had it – and then he remembered that she'd put it in her purse when they'd bought it. They'd been distracted when they'd returned to the place they were staying in, and he'd never asked her for it. Didn't think she'd be leaving a few days later.

"For McGee" he replied – looking at her and wondering if she was remembering the same thing.

Jen nodded and walked to another part of her study. Gibbs watched as she opened up a safe he didn't even know she had. She moved a few things aside and pulled out a small box. She brought it over to the desk and pulled the contents onto the desk with care. For a second he wondered if it meant anything that whereas all of his stuff had been tossed haphazardly into boxes that had accumulated dust, she'd obviously purged her collection and kept only a few things. Kept them in a safe, no less. Without even realising he was doing it, he craned his neck – a little curious to see what it was she _had_ kept. The photos were there. As was the stamp. He wasn't expecting to see a dried rose, which he assumed he'd given her at some stage. He thought it might have been Marseille. Neither was he expecting to see a napkin from the place he thought he remembered as the venue of their last dinner in Positano. But it was the razor that took him most by surprise. She felt the intensity of his gaze as she turned it round in her hands.

"Did you ever wonder whether I'd slit your throat by mistake whenever I used this on you?" she asked as she handed it over.

"Never" he replied. And the gentleness in his tone made her raise her eyes to his.

Their fingers grazed one another's but neither one of them pulled back. They just stood there looking at each other over a barber-surgeon's razor that they'd bought in a quaint little Parisian market. For a moment he let the past reclaim him as memories of her lathering his skin and shaving him ran before his eyes. It was quite possibly one of the most intimate things they had ever done together, and before he knew it the burning desire to touch her started to reassert itself. And from the look on her face she knew it. But she wasn't gloating. Or smirking. She didn't even seem uncomfortable or anxious to be rid of him. She seemed to be lost in her own head, and he smiled as he realised that they were probably caught up in the same memory.

He handled the razor for a while – savouring the memories - before giving it back to her. Then watched her as she picked up her own half of the photographs and looked through them. He caught the flicker of something on her features as she did. When she caught him looking he tried not to see whatever it was that was lurking in her eyes. But it was hard not to. Harder still not to try and define it or be affected by it.

"You hadn't gone grey yet" she said as she passed the photos over for him to look at.

The intensity of the desire to run her fingers through his hair surprised her. He looked so open in so many ways as he stood there before her that she started to wonder why he had come. She was pretty sure that he wasn't even sure himself. He could have burnt them, and she would never have known they still existed. She'd never really thought he'd kept the photos all these years anyway. Had been sure she was the only one who had – even if she never really looked at them because they were too salient a reminder of what she'd left behind.

Briefly she wondered if he'd kept the letter too.

She felt exposed, vulnerable to his scrutiny. She wasn't sure she wanted him to know that she'd held onto these few mementos; kept fragments of their relationship locked away in a box for all these years. It seemed to imply something about her feelings that she wasn't ready to acknowledge to herself – let alone share with him. It came perilously close to regret and she wasn't sure she could afford for him to know that about her. But his expression had softened as she'd opened the box, and he'd taken the razor, turning it over in his hand – a look in his eyes that made her blush again. The memory of their intimacy made her heart hammer into her ribs. It was proof of how close they'd been, how far inside each other's defences they'd got, of how they'd trusted each other. On another day that was a thought that might have upset her, but right now it was a heady, arousing realisation – because no other man had known her so well, had lain claim her body so entirely, had demanded her surrender so completely and given her the same power over him.

She looked over at him, her breath catching in her throat at the realisation that he was much too close and she was much too aware of him. She swallowed, and with difficulty pulled her mind back to the present and the problem he had almost literally dropped into her lap. With some reluctance she acknowledged that it would be far safer if the photographs _were_ destroyed. They were only photographs

after all and she had other keepsakes as well as the memories themselves. And, as she was finding out this evening, the memories still had a power over her. Perhaps over both of them. She told herself if was just the past, playing tricks on them both, because she wasn't ready to admit that her response to him was very much in the present.

"I think we have to get rid of them," she said, watching his face carefully, searching for a sign that he disagreed.

"Including yours?"

"Safes can be broken into" she pointed out, glancing across the room. "I can light the fire? We can do it now?"

He nodded once, knowing it was for the best – telling himself this was why he'd come here after all, even if he didn't quite believe that was the only reason for his visit. Perhaps he'd been expecting to be reminded that she wasn't the same woman anymore – that would certainly have been easier. But there was nothing easy about this situation and the truth was, there was more than an echo of the Jen he'd known in the Director. It was just safer for him not to recognise the fact. Yet sometimes it was impossible to ignore, despite his best efforts; and tonight the knowledge was engulfing him – demanding that he pay attention to it.

He watched her move towards the fireplace, admiring the supple line of her body as she bent to light the fire. More than a little distracted by the way she looked. She looked up to find his eyes skimming her figure – feeling the heat in his gaze spread through her. The sound the fire made as it ignited distracted her and for a moment she thought it might be the air between them as opposed to the fire. Her mind went blank and she struggled to remember what she was supposed to be doing, images of making love in the flickering shadows of firelight exploding before her eyes.

He hadn't intended to get caught staring at her and of course when he did, he bluffed it out, letting his eyes linger over her curves when it might be better for his health to stop.

"When you've finished, perhaps you could bring the photographs over here?"

Her voice was huskier than it had been moments before – which really didn't help his ability to concentrate. He scooped the photos off the desk and crossed to her side, making the mistake of glancing down at the image on the top of the pile before he handed them over.

The sheet had slid from her body, revealing pale skin flushed from pleasure and arousal - her eyes heavy with desire and enticement. He knew that after he'd taken that photograph she'd reached for him, pulled him down to join her on the bed, taking a couple of photos of him before they'd forgotten all about the camera – too intent on giving and receiving pleasure.

As she reached across and took the photos out of his hand her fingertips brushed against his palm. He looked up, biting back a groan at the sensation and his pulse rocketed as he realised that her eyes were exactly the same – that the expression right in front of him was echoed in the photographs that she was holding – especially in the final ones he'd taken as their bodies had started to move together.

She glanced down and he saw her hand tremble before she flicked one more look his way – as though she was waiting for him to say something.

His throat was dry - the indecision torturing him. Stopping her now meant that the past wasn't dead. It had to mean he was ready to do something about these feelings. And he had to be sure it was real, not just visions of the past dancing before his eyes. She moved and before he'd consciously made a decision he reached for her wrist, stopping her before she could throw the photographs into the flames.

"Jen – don't."

--

**Authors' note:**

The _clothes horse_ expression and scenario were borrowed from an episode of _West Wing_.


	4. Letting go

_"Jen - don't."_

She was suddenly light-headed, feeling the breathless weight of the moment between them. The shadows danced across his features and the desire in his eyes was almost too much for her. The photographs slipped from her grasp as he lifted her wrist to his lips and when he pressed a feather-light kiss to the place where her pulse raced she let them go, heedless of where they fell.

They moved towards each other – pausing a split second away from the further contact that she knew would change everything.

"Kiss me," she breathed, looking up at him from beneath her lashes – smiling a little at how surprised he looked.

Her hand cupped his cheek, her touch as light and delicate as his, as though too much pressure would shatter this tremulous intensity. The first touch of their lips was so fleeting she could almost pretend she'd imagined it – except that her imagination had never been that good. But it wasn't enough, could never be enough; and in less than a heartbeat they were kissing again. She closed her eyes, sinking into the depths of him – letting him coax her into a deeper kiss, the brush of his tongue against her lips enough to make them part. And when she expected him to push forward, take the advantage she offered he backed away instead, pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her, breathing her name over and over as he kissed her cheeks, her eyelids. She went willingly into his embrace – the careful chasteness of their kisses making her feel like a teenager again.

His lips found her earlobe, tugging it gently, his hold on her tightening as she gasped – intensity rocketing through her and reminding her that she definitely wasn't a teenager. She reached for his hand, cradling it for a moment, letting her fingers stroke gently over the calluses, before she pressed her lips to his palm. He bit back a groan as her mouth moved over his skin – she was only touching his palm but all he could think about was the same slow, lazy kisses covering his body. He pulled her mouth back to his, hungry to taste her now – though still he wanted to soak up every second of this, to luxuriate in that hunger and push the anticipation as far as he could. He let his fingers trace the opening of her shirt, admiring the slight flush that covered her cleavage – knowing that this was just the start of the way her pale skin could respond to pleasure and arousal. Her head arched back and he didn't even try to resist the long line of her throat, kissing his way down to the place where the flush started.

"God, Jen" he murmured as he pushed her into an armchair and knelt in front of her.

His fingers trembled as he undid just enough buttons to allow him to slide the fabric off her shoulders, and as he ran his mouth along the side of her neck he felt the rumble of laughter reverberate through it.

"What?"

"I feel like I'm sixteen" she whispered in amusement.

"Uh-huh" he replied, no less amused.

"I like it" she said as she dragged her fingers experimentally down his neck.

She felt the involuntary reaction and smiled – remembering how and where he had always loved being kissed. She placed careful kisses right below his earlobe and looked at him - feeling a wave of tenderness in his regard as she saw his eyes close. She placed more kisses along long his jawbone, rubbing his back gently as she did so; and when she sucked gently on his neck, his arms tightened around her and his body pressed closer to hers. She travelled up again, returning the earlier favour by nibbling on his earlobe. Loving the way he wasn't co-ordinated enough to do anything beyond hold onto her. She kissed back down again, pausing at his adam's apple for a while, and then moved up over his chin and back to his mouth as her fingers traced the contours of his face.

She moaned into his mouth and his hands automatically rounded her behind and pulled her into him. Reeling from the intensity he brought brought one hand up over hers on his face and stilled her fingers. She disengaged and ran them through his hair, kissing him slowly and deeply. Biting his bottom lip, then sucking on it before kissing him again.   And this time he was the one who moaned.

He thrust his hips up slightly, dragging her to the edge of the seat; trying to get closer to her.

"This is torture, Jen" he groaned.

"Maybe we should stop" she said. And she wasn't sure which one of them she surprised more – him or herself.

"Is that what you want?" he asked as he rested his forehead against hers.

"I don't know" she said, cupping his face and placing a few more feathery kisses on his mouth.

He pulled back, but there was no anger in his eyes. Only understanding. And she knew he was as unsure as she was.

"I just don't want either of us to regret this tomorrow."

He didn't want to let go – but on the other hand he could understand why she needed to be certain. This had come out of nowhere – he'd been sitting in his basement, reliving some memories less than two hours ago, and now here they were. The past had come back to life – blindsiding them both. And while he knew this was real and alive he could see that she might need some time to reach the same conclusion.

"There's no hurry," he told her, rubbing her back as she shifted against him; and the embrace that, moments before, had been hungry, effortlessly transformed into something tender.

Jen nodded.

"Walk me out?" he asked.

She rested her head against his chest, one hand curled into material of his shirt. The words, '_don't leave_' were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't quite say them aloud. Surely it wouldn't hurt if they took a step back; made sure this was the right thing for both of them. She wasn't interested in a fling, didn't think he was either. But, if this didn't work, the fall out would be immense – and this time she wouldn't be able to run away.

"Thank you."

He took her face in his hands – his gaze piercing as he looked at her. She realised he knew exactly what she was worried about.

"We'll figure it out," he promised.

He slipped his arm around her waist and together they walked to the front door.

"Night, Jen."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, but she sighed and clung to him; returning the kiss with an urgency that made him question the decision to take this slowly. Still, he pulled away. Smiling just a little when she looked sheepishly up at him.

"Goodnight Jethro."

She leaned back against the closed door, her body trembling at the thought that even now they could be upstairs, in her bed. But they'd made the right decision, she was sure of it. Waiting was the mature, the _sensible_ thing to do. Their situation was far more complicated than it had been last time around – there was a lot more at stake. And they'd both changed, both got older – taking time to explore the differences was a good idea. She quieted the small voice in her head that was whispering that just maybe she was afraid of how he'd react when he saw her body now – almost ten years after they'd last been lovers.

She retraced their steps and paused at her desk when her eyes fell on the glass he'd been drinking from not half an hour before. If she'd needed distraction before he showed up, that need was magnified a thousandfold now. She picked it up, restlessness coursing through her - running her index finger round the rim of the glass before rolling the edge against her lower lip as though she thought she could conjure up the sensation of his owndragging across her skin again.

As she walked across to the cabinet to refill it she felt the crunch of something underfoot, and realised that some of the photos had travelled quite a distance from where she'd dropped them. She crouched and picked them up before moving to the spot where the others lay scattered – making a neat little pile and tapping it against her hand as she tried to decide what to do. Nothing had changed. Not really. In the grand scheme of things they were still a liability. She moved over to the cabinet – having determined that if she was going to follow through with the original plan she might need the fortification of alcohol. Her movements were deliberate as she poured herself a large measure of bourbon and came back to sit in front of the fireplace – taking some small comfort from the fact that she was drinking from his glass. As though that meant she wasn't alone in this obliteration of a moment in time when they'd been exactly where they'd wanted to be and there was nothing to stop them from. She looked at the photos one by one as she consigned them to the flames and didn't even bother to keep a check on the emotions the action brought to the surface.

She looked at the people in the photos and relived the intensity of what they'd had. It wasn't so much the way their younger selves looked, but rather the somewhat blurred photos of them together that did her in. She looked at their bodies and remembered the intoxicating sensation of him sliding into her every time they'd made love. Remembered the look on his face as he did so. She rested her head against the armchair and let the visuals of their past come. She remembered feeling him all over her, hearing his voice whisper what effect she was having on him, seeing his expressive eyes tell her what his mouth could or would not, sensing the juncture in the narrative of their intimacy when he was close to the edge, smelling the pungent evidence of their lovemaking once they'd given all they had to give. She felt herself smile as she realised that she was throbbing. For a moment she wondered if doing something about it would make her feel less unsettled, but she dismissed the thought immediately; almost amused by the little voice that made itself heard again – this time telling her it would be a betrayal. Of everything this evening had brought flooding back. Which was odd – because it wasn't as though she hadn't fantasised about him before on lonely nights. But the hunger for him was very real now, and she knew it wouldn't be assuaged that easily. She knew she'd merely take the edge off and want him more, and the longing was killing her already. She looked down at the few remaining photos in her hands and saw the one that she'd seen him look at more than once when he'd been with her.

She looked back at herself from the middle of the bed – desire for him radiating from every fibre of her being. And that's when she remembered that this photo had been on top of the pile the first time she'd tried to toss it into the flames and he'd stopped her. She wondered suddenly if she had a right to burn it without his consent. He'd taken these photos and they were his as surely as she'd been his on the day they'd been taken. Suddenly she wasn't so sure she cared anymore how much of a liability this particular one was. Knew she needed his permission to let it go.

As she got to her feet she was vaguely aware that she was going to be giving him a very mixed message the moment she showed up at his door, but she found she didn't care about that either. She only knew she _had_ to see him. To give him back his photo and see what that brought with it. Fuelled by the intensity of what she was feeling she got to her feet before sanity re-asserted itself, and hurried out of her study. She grabbed her car keys off the table in the hall and pulled the door open – almost colliding with the man that stood on her front steps.

He stared at her in silence, the moment stretching. She didn't need to ask whether he'd ever left because it was all in his eyes as they searched hers. He came into her arms without a word, and she felt him shake as she pressed her mouth to his. As she pulled him inside she became aware of fingers sliding down her side. She shivered slightly as she felt urgent press of the palm that came to rest on her hip. His lips followed the path of his fingers' original route - kissing the side of her neck for a while before continuing on to the edge of her ear.  Her head fell back when the hand on her hip moved to the inseam of her pants and applied gentle pressure there.

"I want you, Jen" he murmured against her skin.

--

**Authors' note:**

The rating is changing for the last chapter. The story is actually complete, but we will be posting the last part tomorrow. You will just have to look for it in the **M** section if you don't have it on _alert_.


	5. Rediscovery

They locked up the house together. Exchanging touches, long looks and every now and again kisses that left them both breathless. She was more aroused than she could ever remember being. She ached for him – but at the same time every second they prolonged the anticipation her arousal rose another notch. He caught her at the bottom of the stairs – pulled her back his chest, pushing his hips into her. The effect was clearly mutual, and as she rocked against him his hands slipped up to cover her breasts.

"Upstairs, now!"

She laughed at his hoarse tone and reached for his hand, pulling him with her. As they reached the top of the stairs he pulled her to him for another kiss and then picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. Personally she'd rather he demonstrated his energy and stamina on something more intimate but she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him so hard he almost stumbled as he tried to push the door to the bedroom open. He dropped her onto the bed, reaching for the bedside lamp, knowing that he wanted to see her face and her body for every moment of this.

She propped herself up on one elbow, watching him in the soft light. Her fingers drifted to the top button of her shirt, and he watched avidly as she unfastened her shirt, button by button, before shrugging it off her shoulders. He wanted slow, he wanted to reacquaint himself with her body, with making love to her – but he couldn't be sure it was going to work out like that. She'd lost her shirt and as she reached for him, pulling him closer, it was all he could do to resist the urge to rip the rest of her clothes off.

But he followed her example, watching her watch him as he slowly took his shirt off and closed the remaining distance between them – letting the skin to skin contact shudder through both of them. She shifted against him, knowing he wanted her, feeling him hard against her, torn between wanting a long, slow reunion and needing something hard and fast. Her breath caught as he carried on taking his clothes off – shedding his shoes and socks and then unfastening his belt.

Her hand stopped him before he could pop the button on his jeans and he dropped his head to her shoulder and bit gently on the tender skin there; hearing her gasp and then groan as his tongue laved the spot that he'd marked with his teeth. But it was his turn to vocalise his feelings as she completed the task of unfastening his jeans, sliding the zipper down and letting her hands find and stroke him.

"A little harder," he whispered as she pushed his jeans down and carried on stroking him.

He knew he ought to stop her, but it was damn good. Only a slight change in her angle took damn good to amazing, and suddenly he was panting and thrusting.

"Oh God, stop."

He fumbled for her lips and kissed her hard, knowing that he had to focus on her for a while or risk this being over very quickly.

Her reaction was immediate. Sensing him heading for overload, she took over. The transition was seamless as she gently kissed his face. Soothing him. Drawing him away from the edge until he was ready to take control back. He shot her a look of gratitude before pushing her completely onto her back and slipping his fingers beneath the straps of her bra. Reaching underneath her to open the clasp. Finding her nipples already pebbled, he teased her mercilessly; rolling each one between teeth and tongue until she gripped his head and made an attempt to push it down her body. He grinned against her skin, not needing to be told twice what it was she wanted.

He peeled her pants and underwear off her slowly, exploring with his fingers before lowering his mouth to take their place; his head spinning when he felt her taste on his tongue. He moved through her slowly, exploring her sensitive flesh, grazing her slightly with his teeth, reacquainting himself with her. Reminding himself how she liked it and how hard. The moment she moaned he raised his head and looked at her. He knew he had it right when he saw her hands bunching the sheets. A small wave of self-pride swept through him as she raised her head from the pillows and caught his eye. He replaced his mouth with his fingers again and watched her gasp for air as her head fall back again.

She couldn't tellanymore if she was feeling hot or cold. All she knew was that she was succumbing to the pleasure rushing along her nerve endings and that she couldn't get enough of it. She forced herself not to jerk as he took another swipe at her. And then another. And then another.

"Jethro please ..."

She reached out for him. Not wanting this to end too quickly for her either. She knew she was perfectly of having multiple orgasms, but somewhere in her head she didn't want that. She wanted them there together - a celebration of the partnership whose memory they'd invoked.

He pulled himself over her. Kissing her tantalizingly and dragging himself along her heat. Just enough friction to make them both a little more desperate. Jen looked at his smug face for a moment, and reached down deep inside herself for a strength she'd forgotten she possessed when she was in bed with him. The look of surprise when he found himself pinned underneath her made her smile down at him tenderly. His fingers dug into her flesh as she did the same thing to him – but she didn't care. His eyes fluttered shut and she enjoyed watching him struggle for control as he tried his damndest not to thrust up and force her to accept him.

She held back a moment longer and then let him in. Saw him buck under her - his eyes opening wide for a moment and then rolling back in his head. But it was the ragged sounds from behind tightly clenched teeth that did it for her. He arched a little bit under her, the tight heat getting the better of his tenuous control.

He moved one hand to her hair, and pulled her face down to his.

"Too much…" he whispered, watching her through half-closed eyes.

But when he saw what the contact was doing to _her_ he knew that the time had come – that she didn't want either one of them to hold back any longer.

The friction pulled at her and the moment she felt his hands splay around her behind she knew he'd understood that it was time. She'd forgotten how satisfying it was to see him struggle – to watch him drowning in his own need. She moved on top of him, refusing to be passive – knowing he wouldn't want that. Taking him in a little deeper with each downward move. Taking as much of him as she could get as he helped – thrusting up to meet her and pulling her down onto him.

She sought his mouth as she felt herself start to break – sensing that the moment she let go, he would too. Wrapping herself in him so that there was no telling where one began and the other ended. And from the way he was clutching her to him as they came together she knew that whatever she was feeling wasn't one-sided. That they were as connected as they had been the last time they did this. That they hadn't just had sex – they'd made love.

Once the tension ebbed away, she found herself trembling in his arms. She kissed him gently and slipped off to his side – grateful for the fact that he pulled her into his side immediately and pressed a kiss into her hair. Strong hands rubbed her back and she fought the desire to fall asleep in his arms like that. She opened her mouth to say something to him, but he pressed a finger to her lips and silenced her before turning her the other way and spooning up behind her.

"Later .." he whispered.


	6. Epilogue

The fire cast shadows across the study as she padded from her desk to the place where he sat on the floor. At her approach he opened the blanket he was wrapped in and she settled into his embrace - taking a moment of rub her naked body along his, hearing the low growl of appreciation in his throat as flesh ran over equally bare flesh.

"You sure about this?" she asked, handing him the remaining photographs – watching the way his thumb stroked over the top one.

"Its what we agreed,"

"That wasn't what I asked."

She looked over her shoulder at him, seeing how torn he was and her fingers clasped his wrist.

"If you promise to keep it somewhere safe – I think you can save one."

She looked down at the person she'd been ten years ago – trying to hold back the pang of regret at the knowledge that her life wasn't so simple anymore. Wishing she could have kept all of them and said to hell with the risk. But that wasn't who she was.

"Jen .." he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, "it's all right."

The way his lips lingered against her skin, the way his hand trailed down her side told her that this might turn out to be a short interlude between other more rewarding activities. Suddenly decisive she drew the photograph from the pile and dropped it to the ground, flicking through the remaining images she removed one of the last ones they'd taken. The blurry images making it impossible to identify anyone, but she knew that he'd been buried deep inside her when it had been taken and that they'd both been impossibly turned on by taking a photograph while making love.

She looked up at him, saw the way a smile tugged at his lips before he took the remaining photographs from her hand and dropped them into the flames. She blinked back tears, feeling ridiculous at being so emotional over something so trivial. Until she felt him tighten his hold on her – and knew that somehow it had got to him as well.

"Let's go back to bed," she said – not wanting to sit here with him and watch the past turn to ashes.

But he slid the blanket away and pushed her down on to the rug in front of the fireplace.

"Let's not."

--

The sound of his cell phone ringing woke him. Without thinking he reached towards the nightstand, only to have his movement obstructed by the warm body curled around his. Carefully he manoeuvred out of bed, realising that the phone was still in his pants – which were in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the bed. He checked the caller id, suspecting he was being called out on a case, surprised when he saw whose name came up.

"Abby, is everything OK?"

"Gibbs – sorry, did I wake you? I didn't think you slept, well, obviously you must sleep sometimes, I wanted to thank you – for trying to help me find a present for Tim."

For a moment he couldn't remember what she was talking about – his gaze drawn to Jen shifting into the space he had been lying in, then opening her eyes when she realised he wasn't there. She pushed her tousled hair out of her face and looked around the room; and even in the dim light he could see her smile when she realised he hadn't left.

"Gibbs – you still there?"

"I found the stamp – if you still want it."

"You did?" He could hear the giddy excitement in her voice as he slipped back into bed, pulling Jen into his side. "Gibbs you're the best!"

"At some things," a low voice murmured in his other ear – hopefully quiet enough not to be picked up by Abby.

"I'll bring it in for you tomorrow."

"Have you been going through old stuff all this time?"

"More or less."

"Find anything as valuable as the stamp?"

"Something I thought I'd lost."

He could almost hear Abby's brain ticking over on that one, and before she could get around to demanding details he said, "good night Abs," and closed the phone.

He pressed a kiss to Jen's head where it rested on his chest.

"It wasn't lost. Turns out I was just looking in the wrong place."

He felt her smile against his skin.


End file.
